Days Like These
by ardavenport
Summary: Yoda, the Padawan.


**Days Like These**

by ardavenport

* * *

_//Yoda?//_

He didn't answer. The diminutive Jedi Master stubbornly kept his eyes closed.

_//Yoda?//_

"Mmmrrmmmrrmmrr...," he rumbled low in his throat and pushed his sore body over onto it's side so he faced the wall. He was less comfortable in that position and the wall would not keep out the voice any more than it could keep out the Force itself. But the physical demonstration of his displeasure suited him.

_//Will you be getting up anytime soon?//_

"In such a hurry, are you?" He pushed over onto his back again and looked up at the darkened ceiling of his little hovel, the blanket bunched up under him.

_//You like getting up early.//_

"Early, yes. Nocturnally, no."

Yoda heard the screeches and squawks of the early morning creatures of the Dagobah swamps outside. It was barely light enough to see by and the fire had died down to warm, glowing coals in the hearth. He closed his eyes, feeling the life all around him, the swamps and great trees outside, every surface of them covered with life from tiny microbes to flapping skin-wings. One of the tiny lizards that got into his hut to prey on the insects and worms that inevitably crept in made a kill in the corner.

_//You're the one who likes to keep a schedule.//_ the voice answered petulantly.

Grunting, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and slowly lowered himself off the bed, the blanket sliding down after him. There was no point in trying to sleep now. He stood a moment to feel the Force in himself, giving his body strength. It had been years since he had seen a modern med center and Yoda was sure that his poor joints would have frozen in place without the Force. He tugged his fraying tunic closer to himself and called his gimmer stick to his clawed hand before making his way outside to his current hole.

Thankfully, the voice did not offer him any helpful suggestions while he was outside. It waited until he got back inside.

_//You should clean that out.//_ the voice said as Yoda added a log to the remains of last night's fire. He knew perfectly well that his fireplace was clogged of ash and charcoal, but it was cold and dark and too early in the morning and he could still fit another log in. He would empty it later.

"Need a fire, you do not." He looked about the room, but his spiritous Master did not grant him a ghostly image for him to glare at. "Tend it, I will. Need your advice on it, I do not."

_//Hmm, you didn't say that when we started this, __Padawan__.//_

Yoda sighed at the reminder. He hung his head and went to fill the pot with water from the open clay cistern.

"Speak to Obi-Wan this way, you do?" Yoda spoke of his disembodied Master's other pupil, his real Padawan in life, on the distant planet, Tatooine. Galactic distances meant nothing in the Force.

_//Obi-Wan appreciates my advice.//_

"Put up with it, he does. Much practice, he has had."

//_Much practice indeed. His training is going much better. He will soon be able to tell you himself.//_

Yoda did not answer that. He returned with the filled pot and hung it on the hook over the hearth. He poked at the fire to encourage it and sat down on the small stool by his fireplace, waiting for the water to boil.

From afar, Yoda had viewed the much younger Jedi Knight, sensed his difficulties and slow return to balance in the Force. Yoda's hundreds of years of living had given him some perspective on the fall of the Jedi. Even the deaths of nearly the entire Jedi Order had been far fewer than all the lives that had come and gone in his long lifespan. Yoda sighed.

Obi-Wan had nothing to compare the tragedy with. Through the Clone Wars and the loss of his apprentice to the Sith, Obi-Wan Kenobi had lived a dozen Jedi lives in hardship and adversity in a very short time. His exile and mission to protect Anakin Skywalker's son had weighed heavily for him, the adjustment from war to isolation difficult and slow. With help, from his old Master.

"Improved he has," Yoda noted quietly, nodding to himself.

//_Your water is boiling. Are you going to start the tea?//_ the voice asked. Yoda closed his eyes, the long calming exhale an exasperated rumble in his throat as he reached for the tea.

There were days when the voice spoke of the Force and Yoda could feel the unity of it in his old bones, flowing from all the life around him, the words connecting across a whole galaxy to guide and ease the solitude of another survivor. The wisdom and compassion of the Universe seemed within Yoda's grasp and he could sense the oneness that he strove for, that would come after death, as it was for his Master.

Yoda moved the pot up away from the fire and dipped the small sack of dried leaves into the water, the heat releasing the bitter-sweet aroma. He stirred it with a stick.

And then there were days like these. When the voice was just the presence of Qui-Gon Jinn. Willful. Opinionated. Annoying.

Yoda needed no other confirmation that it was indeed possible to retain one's own essence in the Force, for Qui-Gon Jinn had kept all of his personality. He wondered if he would learn to accept it better, or would his existence be one long argument once he joined the Force? And would Obi-Wan side with him, or with Qui-Gon?

_Qui-Gon_, Yoda wondered, shaking his head and sitting back, waiting for his tea to steep. _Why did it have to be Qui-Gon?_

**- - - END**

(This story was first posted on tf.n: 25-Oct-2008)

**Disclaimer:** All characters and situations belong to George and Lucasfilm; I'm just playing in their sandbox.


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